


Ollphéist

by Ferei



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And it says Underage because at this point in time Mairon would be fairly young, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, He looks like an adult though, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Melkor's actions are not excusable and he is a genuinely terrible person, More tags will be added later but as it is, Obsession, There is sexual abuse but when it happens I'll tag it so you can skip it if you want, This isn't a nice story, and melkor is a terrible person, and they are never meant to be justifiable, because it'll be implied anyway, even when he acts 'nice', it's not necessary to read those particular scenes to read the story, not a romantic melkor/mairon, this is what you get, well parts of it are, who is terrible to Mairon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferei/pseuds/Ferei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was not an evil being- not at first, and they may say he was seduced, but he was not. He was corrupted. </p>
<p>(Excuse the horrible summary, I can't think of anything better at the moment, so it will change with time, but basically it's the 'Seduction of Mairon' period, in a very, very unhappy manner.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ollphéist

 

Mid-day sun speckled the dirt path, warm against his skin whenever it had the chance to touch beneath his pale robes. There was nary a sound around him, but for the trickling of a stream and the wind between the leaves far above his head— his bare feet did not make any noise against the grassy path, muffled by the soft ground beneath him, though his steps were not at all light.

 

He’d made the smart decision to not wear any of the normal jewels or such things that the Maia usually would, settling rather for a robe to drape around his shoulders so as to protect the majority of his skin from the sunlight. His skin was far too pale to be exposed to even the lightest amount of sun for a certain amount of time, lest he burn. It was a miserable thing, but he’d grown used to it, even though he was terribly hot during even the kindest of summer days.

 

His puppy trailed close behind him, even to the point of being underfoot at times, for the little thing was loathe to walk anywhere except under his robes, for some reason. It was silly, and he’d chided him for it, but frankly, Sosa had not particularly cared. His robes were far too comfy to leave, apparently.

 

Though he would have very much liked to spend the rest of his day under the forest’s canopy, he had duties to attend to, and Ilúvatar knew that he would never hear the end of it if he missed them.

 

The grassy path turned to a flat expanse of sand and dirt, and then into flat sandstone as he came to the gates of the forge. He walked through quickly, ignoring the glances a few of the other Maiar gave him, his robes whipping in the air as he walked. His puppy was now skipping along him excitedly, barking loudly and tail wagging erratically, trying to climb his leg every few steps. Sosa was… very, very eccentric, which annoyed the other Maiar (if their narrowed-eyes towards his general direction meant anything), but he didn’t particularly care about what they thought in that respect, because they believed that he should keep Sosa on a leash. No, Sosa would never be on a leash, Sosa deserved just as much freedom as he did, thank you _very_ much.

 

“Have you eaten anything?”

 

He glanced to his side, smiling halfly at the herald, who had found his way walking next to him, picking up a frantic Sosa and holding the pup close to his chest. Eonwë held out an orange to him, and he took it, sighing as he dug his fingers into the peel.

 

“Yes, but I’m hungry anyway.”

 

Eonwë sighed, scratching Sosa’s ears, stepping a bit closer to him. “How was your walk?”

 

“Beautiful,” he said simply, leaning his head back. “It was quiet and peaceful. I don’t think as happy anywhere else as I do there.”

 

“I understand,” Eonwë said. “It’s the air for me, though.”

 

“I assumed,” he said, rounding a corner towards the hall, towering high above the two of them. “Why are you here?”

 

“I’m not allowed to say,” Eonwë said, giving him an apologetic smile. “Not until the reason comes to light, anyway. But I’ll tell you that I wasn’t commanded to come here— Lord Manwë asked me to, personally.”

 

“That’s strange,” he said, opening the door to the hall and holding it for the herald. “How long are you staying?”

 

“I don’t know. It will depend.”

 

The pair were interrupted by rapid footsteps, a brown-haired Maia joining the two, throwing his hand down onto Eonwë’s shoulder casually. Mairon inhaled sharply and turned away, looking forward as his steps grew a bit harsher.

 

“Sir Eonwë, our lord Aulë has requested to speak with you.”

 

Eonwë turned his head to the maia, eyebrows furrowed (as far as Mairon could see from the corner of his eye). “I did not tell anyone of my coming. How does he know so quickly?”

 

“A messenger came from Lord Manwë,” the maia shuddered out through his panting. “He only wants to welcome you, I think.”

 

Eonwë set Sosa down on the floor and put his hand on Mairon’s shoulder, at which point he turned around to stare at the Herald, who was glowing in comparison to the tawny maia beside him. He threw a slice of the orange into his mouth, meeting eyes with the short maia, nodding his head slightly.

 

“Hello, Elifidur.”

 

“Hello, Mairon!”

 

Eonwë turned fully to Mairon, sighing and bowing his head respectively, as they no longer had the grace of being alone and conversing as friends. Mairon nodded tightly, offering him a soft smile, before picking the yipping Sosa up from the floor and holding him close under his chin. The rest of the orange was pressed against his white fur.

 

“Will I have the grace of conversing with you again at dinner, Mairon?”

 

“Only if you can find me,” Mairon said, lifting an amused eyebrow at him. “I won’t seek you out. You don’t have that privilege yet.”

 

Eonwë laughed, and Mairon saw Elifidur look between the two in confusion. “Until tonight, Manwë’s Herald.”

 

Eonwë smiled at him, tilting his head to the side as he turned to follow Elifidur. “Until tonight, Mairon.”

 

He watched as the Herald turned his back, the pale blue of his robes swaying with his steps, his hair not moving out of the place in even the slightest way. He pouted, unintentionally, but pulled his face back into a more respective expression (he hoped he had, at least). Sosa yipped at him, and he scratched his ears, casting Eonwë one more glance before turning about and hurrying to the staircase, ascending it swiftly. Maybe it was a good thing that Eonwë got called away, lest he’d spend the time which he’d alotted for his work speaking to the herald. 

 

His room was, unfortunately, on one of the highest points in the hall— he passed between pillars when he reached the second-highest floor, taking a sharp turn and hurrying down to the corner, holding both Sosa and what remained of the orange in one arm while reaching for the key with the other. He unlocked it and stepped in swiftly, glancing down at the slowly-busying hall before shutting the door, locking it once more and hanging the key next to the handle.

 

Sosa leapt to the floor, and he reached up, setting the orange on the table beside his door and unclasping his robe, hanging it on the post of his bed and walking around towards the balcony to refill Sosa’s bowls, scooting a few of his toys out of the way as he walked. He had work to do, of course— but, today’s work was not all that tasking. It was merely embellishing jewelry and beading things, perhaps adding a clasp or two, and that would not take him long, because he used to do that in his spare time and had grown quite proficient. Maybe he’d have enough time freed by that to go on a walk again, later, either before or after dinner. Perhaps Eonwë would walk with him. He had missed the Herald very dearly, as he did not come here often. But… he was his friend. He liked being around him, as did Sosa (though Sosa did love most living creatures in general). 

 

He took the pitcher from the side table that sat beside Sosa’s bowls, and refilled his water, doing the same process with the glass jar of food. When Sosa began happily lapping up both water and food, he turned and walked to the table at the end of his bed. It was only high enough for him to put his legs under, as you were meant to sit on the floor when working at it, so he sat on the fur cushion below it and began pulling open his drawers, pulling out whatever he had written on the paper that was taped to the edge of his bed. No, this shouldn’t take very long, maybe an hour or two at the most. He _should_ have the time to go on another walk.

 

At least, he sincerely hoped he did.

 

* * *

 

The dining hall was loud enough that he could barely hear himself think, quite literally, and he was reminded of why he usually chose to take his dinner and eat in his room, which was, for the most part, quiet.

 

He had chosen to sit between two Maiar that he was familiar with, making conversation with them until the food was brought out, though he would have preferred to sit on his own somewhere in a corner. But he was waiting for someone, and he would stay there, and he may or may not have chosen to sit inbetween the two dark-haired maiar so that he’d be easier to find.

 

* * *

 

“He- _what_?”

 

The herald stood entirely still before Aulë, allowing him to get over his shock before firmly offering, 

 

“It is merely a feeling. My Lord Manwë only asked me to come here to be entirely sure there was no problem.”

 

“It’s never just a feeling with him,” Aulë sighed, falling back against the furs he’d abruptly stood from moments ago. “It’s never just a…”

 

“He has not shown his face here yet, I gather?” Eonwë asked, raising an eyebrow. “It is only speculation at the moment, My Lord Aulë. You do not need to worry.”

 

“I always need to worry if it has to do with _him,”_ Aulë said, waving his hand through the air and putting his hand over his eyes, leaning against the window. “You serve my brother, and thus you know that his ‘feelings’ near always become truth, or are at least somewhere near it.”

 

“My Lord—“

 

“But,” Aulë interrupted him, moving his hand away from his eyes and raising his eyebrows, “Even in those situations, my brother rarely tells anyone or does anything about it until after the feeling becomes truth. So why, now, would he tell you and have you tell me, let alone send you here to _guard_ us?”

 

According to Mairon, Aulë never interrupted any of the Maiar, and had a great show of respect for all living creatures, not thinking himself above any of them. For him to interrupt Eonwë either meant that his courtesy didn’t extend to Maiar not his own, or he was panicking. 

 

He was no expert on biology or anything of that sort (knew a bit about it, but it was mostly for medical purposes), but the valar’s shallow, quick breaths rather implied panicking.

 

In a softer tone, Eonwë said, 

 

“I have spent much time around My Lord Manwë, and I already know what you have told me, if I might say. But he feared for you and your ,aiar because of… Him, even if it was just a feeling. Your brother- My Lord Manwë, specifically- is easily frightened when it comes to his family. He said it was merely a ghrianmare, but _I,_ Lord Aulë, requested to come here, to put his mind at ease. He would not have been able to sleep or function otherwise.”

 

He wasn’t lying, considering he didn’t make it up. Lord Manwë did.

 

Aulë sat entirely still, for a moment, and then released a heavy breath Eonwë didn’t know he’d even been holding. The man fell back against the cushions, sitting silently for a moment, before—

 

“I suppose we should attend dinner, should we not?”

 

Despite the fact that he didn’t want to do anything but frown at a wall right now, Eonwë smiled, bowing his head politely. It wouldn’t do good to have Aulë panicked, even if Manwë’s feelings _were_ true. That was what he had said, in the very least, and Manwë was very rarely wrong.

 

“Of course we should, my Lord, of course.”

 

* * *

 

It only got louder, unfortunately.

 

He was leaning into his hands, elbows pressed near-painfully into the table’s edge, having to blink rapidly every few moments to keep his eyes open. There was nothing to do, and he’d already exhausted speech with any of the Maiar he would’ve liked to talk to (or at least not minded). And to think they _still_ hadn’t served dinner.

 

“Already falling asleep?”

 

He jolted out of his creeping unconsciousness, nearly falling off the back of the bench in order to turn to look behind him, eyes brightening up significantly when he laid eyes on the herald.

 

Despite the fact there was no actual smile on his lips, he was still worried someone could tell how relieved he was to finally be in the herald’s company, instead of falling asleep at a crowded dinner table.

 

“Of course not, what could’ve made you think that?”

 

Eonwë laughed, still somehow so audible to him over all of the noise in the dining hall. Someone once told him that it seemed like different Maia (and Valar) had different voices and laughs, all based on who they served and what sort of Maia (or Valar) they were- he hadn’t really noticed it, but as soon as Eonwë laughed, he realized it was actually fairly true. Nobody in the forge had a laugh quite as pure and light as that.

 

He slid a bit to the side, patting the empty seat beside him, which had been vacated a fair while ago by a Maia who had caught sight of his friend— Eonwë quickly stepped over the bench and sat beside him, but not before he had to pick up every layer of his robes and arrange them in such a way that they weren’t poofed around his waist.

 

“How do you wear all of that here?” Mairon asked, pulling a bowl of olives in the middle of the table over to them, picking one up and throwing it into his mouth. “Isn’t it hot?”

 

“Yes, but I’m used to these clothes,” Eonwë said, shrugging his shoulders lightly. He picked up an olive and mimicked Mairon’s movement. “So, as I didn’t get much time to ask earlier, but how have things been at the forge lately?”

 

“Busy, as if they could ever be anything but,” he sighed, leaning against his hand and eating another olive. “I don’t even know where a lot of our work is going, but I’m beginning to think they’re giving it to dragons to replace some ancient debt.”

 

Eonwë laughed, and was about to speak more when the distinct ringing of a knife against a glass filled the air, and the room was suddenly quieted. Everyone looked towards the head of the table, where Aulë and Yavanna stood, fingers laced together.

 

“Yet another fruitful day, my children. I am so proud of each and every one of you.”

 

Cheers were raised throughout the hall, though Mairon stayed quiet, merely smiling down at the rings on his fingers.

 

“Tonight, we are blessed with the company of one of my brother, Lord Manwë’s Maiar. In particular, his herald, as I’m certrain many of you have noticed. I do hope you all treat him with respect and welcome him into our home with warmth. To you, my children!”

 

Eonwë smiled as the Maia collectively cheered, and it took him a moment to realize that Mairon had disappeared from the seat next to him. He glanced around in confusion, but couldn’t do much more, Maia from every direction rushing towards him, eager to make conversation with whom Mairon supposed was seen as an ‘exotic stranger’.

 

He’d slipped out of the seat the moment Lord Aulë had mentioned Lord Manwë, because it wasn’t hard to guess whom he was talking about. He stood by the grand doors for a moment more before turning and slipping out of the hall, despite not having eaten anything except for some berries and olives. His stomach hurt, yes, but it would get over it, as it always did whenever he decided to skip a meal. 

 

The walk to his room was quiet, as nearly every Maia was either asleep or in the dining hall, and that made him happy. He liked the silence, even though he had wanted to talk with Eonwë a bit longer. The Herald was his friend.

 

He ascended the staircase swiftly, and was breathing a bit heavily by the end of it, walking quietly towards his room at the end of the hall. He retrieved his key and opened the door, stepping into his room and locking the door, sliding down against it and sighing.

 

Sosa was sleeping on the pillow next to his on the bed, and he smiled slightly, standing after a few moments and walking towards his wardrobe. He pulled out a black robe and hurriedly changed in the darkness, washing his face off and tying his hair back before walking to his bed, sitting down on the side and rubbing his ankles a bit, looking up towards the forest, bathed in Illuinlight. But his hand stopped moving and he found himself staring motionlessly, because when he looked towards the land beyond the forge, it seemed different. Illuin was as bright as ever and it was quiet, yes, and that was normal enough— but his chest felt tight, and his throat dried, and he felt a chill come over him. 

 

He tore his eyes away from the balcony, and the ill feeling left, relief filling him instead. He quickly pulled up the blankets and slid under them, turning his back to the forest, staring directly into Sosa’s fuzzy white face. He gave the puppy a quick scratch behind his ears and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep within seconds.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghrian is one of the Irish words for Sun. Ghrianmare is basically a daytime version of a nightmare. I don't think it's an actual term, anywhere, but since I'm Irish I just pulled that out of my ass, basically, because I couldn't find any other word that would work there. Also, if you see misplaced accent marks, or incorrect accent marks, tell me, because I can't proofread my own work for the life of me. Thank you :3


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